


Accept

by FreyaOdin



Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Blow Jobs, Coitus Interruptus, Edgeplay, Humor, M/M, Mild Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 19:28:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8546182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreyaOdin/pseuds/FreyaOdin
Summary: Mitch is trying to distract himself. It works a little too well.





	

 

Mitch is trying to concentrate. Or maybe to not concentrate. Honestly, he’s not even sure what exactly he’s doing right now, just that he’s trying to distract himself and most assuredly not looking down.

He tried browsing one of the kinky toy sites he’s recently discovered, thinking he could maybe use this time for a little Christmas shopping while he was in an appropriate mood. However, he soon realized that looking at new and innovative ways to get himself and/or his current nemesis off wasn’t actually helping matters, so he switched to his private Instagram. Which he instantly backed out of because his sister posted some new family pics and while that might be an effective strategy, Mitch doesn’t want a short-term victory to scar him for life.

So now he’s mindlessly scrolling his Twitter feed, not really looking at anything, but unable to put the phone down because then he’d have no distraction at all and no reason to avoid looking down.

Scott’s spending this time humming, which normally would be fine. Mitch loves listening to him and usually would be happy to simply bask in his voice or join in and just riff off each other. Well, Scott would riff. Mitch would harmonize.

It’s just the location of Scott’s current humming that’s the problem. It’s what’s making most of Mitch’s distraction techniques completely useless.

That location being around Mitch’s dick.

Humming.

Mitch doesn’t even remember how they ended up with this bet. Some ridiculous conversation that went from how long Scott could keep him on edge when he desperately wanted to come to how fast Scott could get him off when he desperately wanted to _not_ come to Captain Ego down there actually outlining terms and time thresholds and fucking rules of engagement.

Mitch glances at the clock on his phone. Shit. He has to hold out for like eleven more minutes. Which means he absolutely cannot look down and see those pale cheeks hollowing with suction and those pink lips stretched wide and that sharp jaw unlocking to swallow around him and the glistening spots of precome on that scruff from where he was nuzzling Mitch’s cock before he sucked him down and…

Fuck.

Mitch might not be choosing the optimal strategy right now.

Scott hands are wandering around Mitch’s thighs, one of them currently in approved territory on his hip, fingers clenched around his open belt, the other skirting perilously close to off limits at the base of his balls. Mitch is still wearing pants to try to keep some level of advantage, but he’s also made sure the rules included no prostate stimulation because he knows his own weaknesses almost as well as Scott does and those big fingers and Mitch’s ass are a match made in heaven. Mommy’s not an idiot.

Except Scott must think he is because his thumb is now pressing rhythmically into his perineum and holy shit even through his pants this feels fantastic and just no. No! It’s not going to work.

It’s totally going to work.

“Hey!” Mitch protests, reaching down with the hand not holding his phone to blindly grab a handful of blond hair. “You’re cheating!”

“Am naah,” Scott says around a mouthful of dick. “Naah tutsin’ yo aff.”

“The deal was staying away from my prostate. You’re cheating.”

“Fowwy.

Fucking liar.

Scott’s thumb stops moving, but it also stays were it is. He does that trick where he swipes his tongue all over Mitch’s head while still maintaining suction that Mitch is pretty sure is actual witchcraft and thus qualifies as cheating, except he can’t quite make himself discourage Scott from doing it. Ever.

He’s going to lose and not only will he have to do Scott’s laundry for a month, but he’ll also have to deal with him gloating all over the place for probably the rest of their lives. Technically, the loser has to wake the winner up with a blow job at least three times in the next week, but Mitch doesn’t really consider that a punishment regardless of outcome.

Scott’s humming slides deeper, along with other things, and he’s hitting notes he only normally manages when he’s taking over the bass part during Avi’s solo or when Mitch is cuffed to the corners of his bed.

Shit. Mitch is _bad_ at this. Think of other things: Dying puppies. Salmonella. Ben Carson naked.

It’s not working.

Mitch can feel his toes starting to curl and his balls starting to tighten and there’s six minutes left on the clock and he makes the mistake of glancing down at Scott who’s staring up at him with mischievous blue eyes and bobbing up and down and humming so deep Mitch can feel it in his chest as well as his dick and his back is starting to arch against his will and—

Mitch is saved by the chime of an incoming FaceTime request. The timing is fantastic and totally not his fault. He didn’t cheat. He has nothing to do with it.

What _is_ his fault is that while he’s sighing with relief and laughing at Scott’s disgruntled “Faff naah faihw”, he accidentally hits the green accept button instead of the red decline.

Oh. Oh _shit_.

“Mitch!” his caller exclaims, beaming at him. “I can’t believe I caught you while you’re free.”

Scott lets Mitch’s dick fall out of his mouth and glares up at him in utter disbelief.

Righteously irritated utter disbelief.

Mitch winces because yeah, _that_ fuck up totally deserves a glare. He double checks the screen to make sure the camera’s only on his face and chest. “Hi Dad, how are you?”

“Really good, you?”

Oh, y’know. His usually easygoing boyfriend is seconds away from murdering him. Otherwise fine. “Not bad.”

“Your mom and I wanted to know when we could expect you for the holidays. Do you guys know your schedule yet? Just a rough one is fine. Is Scott around?”

Mitch loves that his own parents prefer to talk to Scott over him when it comes to scheduling plans. You fuck up an important date just once… Meanwhile, Scott’s gone from righteous irritation to panicked flailing in less than a second.

Waving your hands back and forth and frantically shaking your head means yes, right?

“Yeah, he’s right here.” Mitch smirks at him, and then points at his own face. “Oh, you’ve got a bit of lunch or something on your cheek, Scottland.”

Scott scrubs at his face with the back of his hand, scowling at Mitch, and then pastes on a fake, welcoming smile. He’s as careful to keep his lower body out of frame as Mitch is when he leans in.

“Mike, long time no see! What did you need to know?”

Mitch uses his father’s distraction to quickly tuck himself back into his pants with the hand not holding the phone. Would have been nice if Scott had done it for him, but he supposes he doesn’t have room to complain under the circumstances. He glances down at the substantial bulge in the front of Scott’s jeans.

Yeah. He’s not going to win an argument on interrupted sex etiquette right now.

Scott and Mike sort out whatever it is they’re talking about. Mitch thinks they’ve just committed to flying into Dallas-Fort Worth on the 23rd. He makes a mental note to check with Esther in case Scott’s forgotten something, which contrary to his parents’ beliefs happens fairly regularly.

Scott laughs at whatever Mike is talking about, pulling Mitch onto his shoulder into a cuddle. He’s grinning in a way that seems more genuine now and when Mitch focuses on the screen he can see his dad holding up a photo of Mitch’s niece in her Halloween costume. That explains it; she’s adorable and Scott’s always a sucker for cute kids. Mitch smiles and rejoins the conversation, catching up on family news and trawling for gift ideas and generally enjoying snuggling with Scott.

“So,” Mitch says, after Mike has signed off and Scott’s disengaged their snuggling to sit back up. Mitch is hopeful he can salvage something more immediately positive out of his fuck up. “Should we restart the bet?”

“No.” Scott says, staring intensely down at him. He’s not smiling, although there could be a hint of a smirk going on around his lips. “We’ll restart the bet another time. What’s going to happen now is you’re going to strip naked and I’m going to do whatever the fuck I want to you. Which most assuredly will not include you coming anytime soon.”

Oh. Oh, _yes Daddy_.

Shit, Mitch should fuck up more often.

**End**

**Thoughts? :)**


End file.
